


the guilt of ruining your life

by Measureless



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, M/M, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Not Canon Compliant, OD, Panic Attacks, Soulmate AU, and need therapy, and the consent issues around that, bodyswap au, don't think of jack as a victim, for some definition of cheating, god they really just need to talk, hockey fight, honestly i'm sorry, implications of cheating, implications of sex, jack is being horrible, kiss without consent, mention of colorblindness, mostly off-screen violence, no seriously it's like the canon backstory but more awful and tragic, reference to canonical drug use (pot), similar to canon, vague reference to masturbation while in soulmate's body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measureless/pseuds/Measureless
Summary: The real reason Eric Bittle hates Kent Parson: it’s so much easier to blame someone else for your mistakes.The real reason Jack Zimmermann hates Eric Bittle when they meet at Samwell: You did this to me. --This is a soulmate bodyswap angsty zimbits au.





	1. The Draft

**Author's Note:**

> http://measurelessgarden.tumblr.com/post/152472097572/halekingsourwolf-elkian-okay-but-heres-the
> 
> I'd seen this before, but then I thought about zimbits and .... angsty things happened that involved me screaming about how evil I am.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric Bittle and his soulmate, Jack Zimmermann, swap bodies. The result is disastrous. The only thing that doesn't go wrong is that Jack is still alive...

  


Swapping bodies with your soulmate can happen at any time. The participants may or may not occupy their soulmate’s body for the same length of time; it may not even occur at the same moment. It is unclear what happens to your partner while you occupy their body in this case - often you return to your own body as though no time has elapsed. Regardless, use your time wisely. This is your chance to discover who your love is, leave a message, or make plans to meet.

This is your chance to bring you and your soulmate together. Don’t waste it!

  


\----

  


Eric blinked and one moment he was baking in the kitchen with his mama, and the next he was in his soulmate’s body, and everything was too loud. His head swam. There was a beer can in his hand. It was too loud! His eyes hurt. There were people everywhere crashing around him and they were too close. He sucked in a breath. Why was the music so dang loud?

He took a step backwards, suddenly needing to escape. He was so tall. Why was he dizzy? He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of here. He should figure out who he was. That was important, right? Leave a message, at least. He just needed, just needed some air. Why was it so hard to breathe in here? Why was everyone so close, too close? Why was it so loud? Eric didn’t imagine parties were like this.

An older boy, shorter than he was, crowded in. He had blond hair and his eyes looked green, or ... Eric wasn’t sure. He was too close, pressing in to Eric’s borrowed body. He tried to take a step back, but there was someone standing there already. He asked something and it wasn’t English. Oh lordy, that was just- he needed help. He was shaking and he couldn’t ask for help. He shook his head, trying to convey how confused and lost and that he wasn’t the person this guy thought he was speaking to, and-

The guy pulled the beer out of his shaking hands and grabbed his arm, forcing him away from the crowd. Eric didn’t know what was going on, but he was being dragged away from the noise and the press of strangers and he still couldn’t breathe but this was better. “Thank you,” he muttered, and was startled at the sound of his voice, his soulmate's voice, but it sounded like he couldn’t get enough air, like his lungs didn’t work.

He could barely stand by the time he’d been dragged to a bedroom. He couldn’t make out any of the details. His heart was racing like he’d been on the ice for hours and pushed so hard he collapsed. Eric was terrified. Was his soulmate dying? All he could hear were his own ragged breaths. He sunk down on the floor, wrapping himself up tight, wondering if he would ever get his lungs working. It hurt so bad.

Then the blond rested a hand on his shoulder. “Been a while since you had such a bad one, huh. C’mon man, breathe with me.”

He tried to ask a question. The guy spoke English, so he needed to know, but he couldn’t form the words. Eric had always been so free with words, and they wouldn’t come.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” The blond rubbed his shoulder. “Gimme a sec.” He got up and rummaged around and Eric couldn’t watch because he couldn’t function. “Where the fuck did you pack your- nevermind. Found 'em.” He returned and dropped a pill and a glass of water into Eric’s hands. “You need to take this.”

Eric could feel his eyes go wide, but he did. The blond took away the glass and sat back down next to him, muttering soothing repetitive things.

After a while, after forever, because it felt like forever, Eric’s heart slowed and his breath came easier but he still hurt everywhere and felt frightened and unfocused and he had trouble figuring out how to choke out words. “Why is this happening?”

The blond hugged him tight and held him for a long while. He tried to figure out how to ask what he needed to know and the words just wouldn’t come, and he was so tired. Then he was pulled up, and gently pushed towards the bed. “Get some rest. I have to go mingle,” and the way he said ‘mingle’ was filled with disdain. “So I’ll be back in a little bit. Don’t forget to take more if you need it.” He set the glass of water and the prescription bottle on the dresser next to the bed. “Back soon.” His eyes looked blue, flashing with some feeling he couldn’t identify. And then he was gone so fast. Too fast.

Eric did not feel better. He needed to know what was going on. His hands were shaking again. He tried to choke back a sob. This was his chance to learn about his soulmate, and he couldn’t move right, or ask the right questions. He looked at the bottle, and it had information written on it. He could at least learn his soulmate’s name. That was plenty. That would work.

He didn’t realize how blurred his vision was - why was it so blurry - until he realized he couldn’t even read the text on the label.

He said take another one if he needed to, right? Eric fumbled with the safety cap and downed a pill, and waited.

He couldn’t breathe again. His heart hammered in his ears. His heartbeat sounded too loud, like it would explode. He held himself and shook and rocked back and forth, and wasn’t the other guy supposed to be back soon? And he took another pill.

It wasn’t getting better. Eric wanted to just go home. His soulmate would do better than he could manage, and he would find Eric and everything would be fine. He just had to make it through this, whatever it was. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.

Was he in a hotel room? He tried to get some air into his lungs but his heart was going to burst, he was sure of it now. Maybe he should call for help. But he had the pills here, and so it was okay to take more. He wanted to be well enough to look around. He tried to stand up and was so dizzy and his vision nearly went black. He grabbed the pill bottle and tried to cross the room. His original goal was the bag, where maybe he could find something personal to identify himself.

Eric wasn’t going to make it that far. He felt sick. He was going to die. His soulmate was going to die and there was no one here to help him. He was aiming for the door, to find help, but he felt so sick and awful he stumbled into the bathroom instead. He sunk down over the toilet, but he was still shaking. He had forgotten what air tasted like. He heaved, but nothing came up.

He scrambled at the pill bottle he had dropped on the floor and took another one dry. It made him gag. Why weren’t they making him better? It was supposed to make him better. Eric’s heart was going too fast too fast too fast, like the blond boy, everything was hurting and too fast and air wasn’t a real thing anymore.

He tried to stand, bracing himself against the wall until he was upright, at least a little. He was so afraid. Everything was wrong and broken and terrifying, it was like a nightmare.

Eric caught motion in the corner of his blurry vision and looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

Tall, blue eyes wide with fear, shaggy dark hair, well built. Hot. He laughed out a sob, but he couldn’t breathe, so he crouched over.

He wanted to look again, but his vision was dark and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to see anyway. He felt so awful but it was funny how attractive his soulmate was, but his hands were so cold.

Why was he so cold?

Eric wasn’t sure why he was cold and hurt everywhere and everything was dark and awful.

The noise was too loud. It was the blond boy’s voice, he thought. Oh good, you’re here. He tried to say it. He couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t find the breath to speak with. The boy was shouting something. He thought he felt hands on his chest, on his throat, but nothing felt real anymore.

Eric thought he might be able to rest.

  


\----

  


Eric hurt so much when he woke up. His body felt wrong. He was disoriented. Where was he? There were noises he couldn’t identify, and his heart felt too loud in his chest.

There was a noise and a woman gasped and squeezed his hand. He didn’t recognize her and he wanted to cry. She was blond, with bright blue eyes. She had been crying.

“Bob, Bob,” she sobbed, and a man joined her. He had brown eyes, dark hair, and his face was so pale and sad.

Eric wasn’t sure he could speak, but he forced “Where am I?” out in a whisper.

The man took his hand, and said, “Jack-”

And Eric blinked-

  


\----

  


Jack didn’t know what it felt like to live without weight, to breathe easy, until he blinked and the party disappeared and he was in a bright kitchen, in his soulmate’s body. The sun was warm. A blond woman he didn’t know hummed next to him wearing an apron.

With a slight start, he looked down, and Jack realized he’d stopped in the middle of mixing a bowl of batter.

The woman looked at him with warm brown eyes. “Everything alright, honey?”

“Who am I?” His voice was young, and had a heavy accent he couldn’t place, like the woman who beamed at him, eyes shining with joy.

“You’re Eric Bittle’s soulmate, darling. What’s your name?”

“It’s-”

  


\----

  


Jack was suddenly back in his own body, and it hurt more than normal and for the briefest of moments he thought it was because he finally had known a second of peace, of warm sunlight where everything was well, but then he realized his parents were leaning over him. Maman was crying, and Papa said, “in the hospital.”

  


\----

  


He dropped the mixing bowl. It crashed against the ground and shattered. Eric was crying already and his mama was wrapping her arms around him. He sobbed, but he could breathe again and he sucked in air like he could never get enough.

“Jack!” he sobbed into her shoulder.

“Jack, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Mama, he’s really hurt. I- I don’t know if he’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric is probably 12 or 13 and has no experience with prescriptions, and he can’t see well enough through the panic attack to read the bottle and think logically that this is not a good thing. Poor kid just doesn't know.


	2. Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric starts at Samwell, and finally meets his soulmate for real. Finally learns who his soulmate actually is.

Jack glared at him across the face-off circle.

Eric clenched his jaw. That was Jack’s standard glare. He used it on everyone. Eric couldn’t stop himself from watching Jack every moment they were in the room together, even if Jack refused to acknowledge him. Even if that was always _always_ with several other hockey players between them. There was no one for Jack to hide behind now.

He shifted his grip on his stick and glared right back. Jack hadn’t spoken to him off the ice. Five damn years of silence. Eric was the one who had to break it.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Zimmermann.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. It was the first reaction he’d shown to Eric since--

 

 

“You must be Eric,” said an attractive man with light brown hair. “I’m John Johnson, the captain.”

Eric shifted the pie to one hand so they could shake hands. “Yeah, hi. I’m Eric. How did you know?”

“It could be you’re the last one here, or it could just be my role in the narrative.” Johnson waved off his confusion. “Don’t worry about it, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Eric was bursting with excitement. Samwell was a new beginning. He could be himself here, make new friends... He caught sight of a tall guy with dark hair and blue eyes and Eric froze. No. That couldn’t possibly be. Eric knew that face. He’d known it for years.

Jack.

Jack, who had ended up in the hospital.

Jack, who never tried to contact him.

Jack, who Eric worried about.

Jack, who left Eric all alone.

Jack disappeared behind a cluster of other players.

It was a good thing Johnson had already relieved him of the pie, because Eric would have dropped it. He would have marched right over, right then, but Johnson put a hand on his shoulder and guided him around the room.

He barely heard a word. Ollie, Wicks, Shitty, Justin, Birkholtz. He couldn’t keep track of the names, couldn’t remember which were nicknames. He couldn’t follow Jack, but he followed him with his eyes.

Then he was there, right in front of Eric for the first time. He sucked in a breath and didn’t know how to feel. There was too much frustration and hope and memories all mixed together, and Jack was as hot as Eric had thought he was. He was tall, broad shouldered, and he had really nice eyes. Eric wondered what Jack would look like with a smile. He’d never seen Jack’s smile.

“Eric, this is Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack had his hand partway up to shake when Johnson continued, “Zimms, this is Eric Bittle.”

And Jack froze. His brow lowered, and he pinched his lips together into a thin line.

 

 

\--the puck dropped and their sticks clashed. Eric fought and won the puck, though it wasn’t long before Jack stole it back and took off down the ice. Eric was fast. Fast enough to catch Jack while he was distracted and slam into him, sending them both to the ice.

Eric was back on his feet instantly, skating a slow circle around Jack. Jack rose up to face him and said in a low, quiet, dangerous voice, “That how it’s going to be, eh?”

He stopped directly in front of Jack, and there was fire in Jack’s eyes now. “You had five years to ignore me.”

He could see Jack start to turn away, so he dropped his gloves.

 

It was a stupid thing to do. Jack had the advantage in height and experience. Eric had fury, but Jack had rage.

It ended with Holster yanking Jack off Eric. Shitty reached down a hand to help Eric to his feet. Jack pulled away from Holster and took off towards the locker room. Johnson followed just behind. Once he was up, Eric wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and it came away bloody.

It ended with a split lip, and any number of bruises, and Eric didn’t feel any better about Jack.

“Bitty, what the fuck? I don’t know if I should be horrified or impressed. You got something to prove?”

Eric shook his head.

Ransom skated over to them as Holster and Shitty led him off the ice. The rest of the team gave Eric space, but the coaches were giving him dark looks. “Brah, I know we all want to pound Jack some days, but you’ve gone off the chain, like you got some kind of vendetta-”

“Oh, it’s definitely fucking personal.”

“Woah, bro, didn’t think you dropped f bombs.”

“Bro, how do you know Jack?”

Eric snorted. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

 

\----

 

Eric was jittery about the kegster. He had only ever been to one real party, and... well. All he could remember about that was how loud and terrifying it had been. Normally he avoided thinking about it. He tried not to remember too many other details of that night; he’d really rather forget. As if that were possible.

He came over to the haus early to make snacks. If that served as a convenient excuse for stress baking, fine. Eric produced piles of cookies. He took more photos of his baked goods than normal, since he couldn’t see through the cracks on the screen well enough to evaluate them here. He’d pin the best for Mama once he was on his computer.

Johnson came down from his room in the attic to join them in the kitchen.

“It’s the second week of classes. Why’re we throwing a kegster now?”

Johnson smiled and said, “Kegsters are apparently pretty dramatic, narratively speaking.”

Shitty elbowed him. “Make some motherfucking sense, brah.”

“We’re celebrating the start of the academic year and making sure our frogs meet people.”

“Bits, for all your hard work baking, feel free to sleep in my room tonight if you get too drunk to make it home.”

“Uh, thanks, Shitty, but I’ve heard you cuddle everyone and um...” Eric looked his direction and glanced away quickly. Getting Shitty to wear a single stitch of clothing around the haus was apparently a lost cause. Shitty laughed.

“So who all’s coming tonight?”

“Women’s volleyball team, the ultimate frisbee guys-”

“-And gals.”

“ _Not_ the LAX bros.”

“Fuck no.”

“Tools.”

“The swimming team.”

“And of course, all of SMH.”

“Duh.”

Eric ran his tongue along his lip and winced at the sting. “Even Jack?”

All four of the hausmates looked at Eric. The idea of parties and Jack left Eric feeling sick. He grabbed the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Relax man, Jack doesn’t _do_ parties.”

“He doesn’t like us, remember?”

“He’s actually on an emergency trip to Las Vegas,” said Johnson.

“Huh, I wonder why,” Holster said. He seemed genuinely confused.

Jack, in Las Vegas with--

 

 

Five long years, and Eric had finally met Jack.

Jack, who knew his name but not his face.

Jack, who was retreating into the crowd of hockey players.

Jack, who was avoiding him.

Jack, who Eric couldn’t stop himself from tracking through the crowd.

Jack Zimmerman.

Jack.

Birkholtz elbowed him gently, nudging him out of his disbelieving stare. “I know, right?”

“What?”

“I’m still not used to playing with a legendary bro.”

Eric didn’t know what he meant. Jack was _Jack_. He clenched his fist. “I didn’t expect to see him here.”

Justin leaned into the conversation. “You didn’t realize he was on our team? Most guys pick Samwell just to play with him. I know Holtzy did. Too bad he’s too good for us.” He shot a glare Jack’s direction.

Eric left that night feeling tense. He had a name now. Years ago, that would have felt like it meant something. Now it seemed laughable. He knew Jack’s voice, but only from a memory. Jack had put a lot of effort into avoiding Eric, leaving them circling each other around the rest of the team until Jack disappeared.

Except the other guys called Jack legendary. He opened Google on his phone, and had to remind himself to keep walking. Jack Zimmermann, hockey legend.

He stopped in the middle of the quad, staring. Most of the photos were of the young Jack that Eric had glimpsed in a mirror. Except they showed a Jack that was smiling.

Eric shuddered at the rest of the familiar faces. Their expressions were wrong. Bad Bob Zimmermann, grinning, raising the Stanley Cup in triumph, not pale and looking like he couldn’t wake from a nightmare. Alicia Zimmermann, smiling bright eyed and sweet, or striking a dramatic pose on a runway, rather than tear streaked.

Kent Parson. Blond, arm wrapped around Jack’s shoulders, both wearing unfamiliar jerseys. Eric jolted to see him. That was a face he hadn’t expected to put a name to. Remembering him made Eric queasy.

There were a lot of photos of Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson. He looked at the headline for the first one. The photo was apparently from when they played in the Q, right before the draft. It was linked to an article about Parson. He went first pick in the draft.

Eric furrowed his brow. Jack was here, not in the NHL, and he got the impression that his teammates thought Jack was _good_. He told himself he didn’t want to see any more. He should put his phone away.

Eric scrolled through the headlines.

Jack Zimmermann.

Number One Draft Prospect.

Rehab.

He didn’t want to look at the date. He didn’t want to look, because he already knew. The realization settled over him like a chill.

_Mama, he’s really hurt. I- I don’t know if he’s going to be okay._

He looked at the date anyway.

Eric remembered Kent’s voice. _Take more if you need it._

He clenched his fist over his phone so tight it shook, then threw it down on the sidewalk. He heard the screen crack, and didn’t even care.

Kent Parson, who helped him fuck over his soulmate.

 

 

\--Kent Parson, who was captain of the Las Vegas Aces.

Jack. Jack was in Vegas.

Eric turned back to his cookie making.

 

The haus was crowded with a press of people and the music was loud. It had a good beat. He took selfies with Ransom and Holster, ignoring the jagged cracks in the glass. Eric was at least a couple of beers in, enough to lose track, and he was surprised to discover he loved it. He loved the press of bodies, the feel of alcohol swimming in his veins, the thumping music, the dancing. Eric absolutely loved the dancing. He let loose, and when Shitty checked in on him he gave two thumbs up, grinning so hard it hurt.

It was loud, but that just meant Eric had to be louder. This was fun. He took a selfie, looking into his broken phone screen, and danced like he had no regrets.

Afterwards, he was too drunk to think much about why his expectations about the kegster had been so dire.

It was nice to not think about Jack for a while.

 _Damn it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many thanks to everyone who left comments. I had EVERY intention of leaving this stand alone, but all your questions about what would happen next got me thinking.
> 
> I'm working on chapter 3 as we speak, and have some notes for chapter 4, and ideas for farther along. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!
> 
> <3
> 
> Please keep fueling me with kind comments :)


	3. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Eric start making an effort to get along, but it backfires. Badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated the tags, so keep an eye out
> 
> All the thanks to [virgobucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/virgobucky/pseuds/virgobucky) for reading this, helping me out with the tags, and giving me the courage to post it!

_Kent trailed his fingers up Jack’s side, pressed a kiss to his shoulder._

_He knew he wouldn’t have this forever. Eventually one of them would find their soulmate, and Kent was honest enough with himself to admit that would be the end of it._

_He curled a leg over Jack._

_He couldn’t put a name to this feeling. It was more than friendship, but less than love. He was pretty sure it wasn’t love. That would be stupid. It was one thing to be fuck-buddies with your best friend..._

_He pulled Zimms close. He could have this, if just for now._

_Kit jumped up on the bed._

_“Purrson, get off.”_

_“Did you say Purrson or Parson?”_

_Jack didn’t answer, but he grabbed Kent’s arm to pull him in closer, wrapping his other arm around his back._

_Kent grinned and shoved her gently off the bed with his foot._

 

\----

 

“Bitty! Get in here and watch tape with us!” Holster called.

“Oh, is that what y’all are up to?” Eric set a timer for the pie on his phone and claimed the empty armchair. He shuddered when Shitty sat on the the middle seat of the filthy couch wearing just his boxers and socks.

Holster and Ransom shared the far end, with Ransom sitting on the armrest.

“Why aren’t you sitting normally?” Eric asked, with a wave at the empty seat.

“Bro, that’s Johnson’s seat.”

There was a racket at the front door. He heard Johnson’s voice say, “-it’s not optional today.”

Shitty looked over his shoulder. “Who- oh. Jack,” he said, as Johnson led Jack into the living room with a hand on his shoulder. Shitty almost always sounded friendly, except for right now. He sounded cool and vaguely normal, which for Shits meant he was pissed. “Jack, what are you doing here?”

“Apparently watching tape as my punishment for missing practice while I was in Vegas.” Jack’s eyes flickered towards Eric as he took the open seat next to Shitty.

“Johnson, you can sit here. Y’all don’t need me to watch-”

“Nah, Bitty. You should join us. Stay there.” Johnson grabbed a chair from the kitchen for himself, and once he was settled waved at Holster to start the recording he had pre-queued while they were setting up.

"Jack couldn’t make it earlier this week?” Preferably when Eric was in class instead of at the haus?

“I was in class.”

“Focus guys, I’m telling you, we’re going to win the championship this year,” Johnson announced.

“Zimms, how was Vegas?” Eric asked with an undisguised edge in his voice.

He stared at him with an intense, icy gaze. In clipped tones, he said, “Vegas was great. Why are you even here?”

“Baking.”

He couldn’t stop himself from glaring at Jack. He was the last person he wanted to see right now. Eric clenched his hand into a fist, then forced himself to release it. God, fighting with Jack had just made everything worse.

He knew he should ignore him, or let it go, or something. He was really glad he had the extra space provided by having his own chair. Eric didn’t think he could handle sharing the couch with Jack. His bruises from their fight were still visible, faded as they were.

Johnson kept them on task. Ransom and Holster had a good eye for picking apart the play, when they paid attention. Shitty seemed distracted by their antics, and only paid attention to last year’s game when he could chirp the two of them. Whenever the focus was on Jack, Shitty dropped into stony silence.

Without a word, Shitty disappeared and returned with three beers. He handed one each to Ransom and Holster. Eric didn’t say anything about it. The tension in the room was too high already.

He had to admit it, Jack was clearly the best player on the team. Watching him play made that obvious in a way practice hadn’t. He had his flaws on the ice, and he didn’t work well with his teammates, but his skills were above and beyond almost everyone else.

Johnson calmly critiqued Jack’s performance, and Jack took it well. He suggested minor technique improvements, or made weird comments no one understood like, “You’ve got to work on your Narrative.” Eric tried not to bother the captain, but his comments were all avoiding the real issue. He darted a look towards Jack and clenched his fist.

“Honestly, the problem hasn’t got a thing to do with your skating or your stickhandling, Jack.” His skating was exceptional, all power and control. “The problem is you act like you’re the only one on the ice.”

“What?” Shitty looked over, wide eyed, and scooted away from Jack like he was going to explode. He practically clawed his way into Holster’s lap. Eric couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure a fair amount of beer ended up soaking into the couch from the maneuver.

“Even if no one else is as good as you, you’ve got to rely on your teammates more.” Eric ignored the death-glare Jack gave him. “Is that not really obvious?” He turned towards Johnson, since the captain was likely to have more weight towards his argument.

Johnson nodded, and Jack glowered at them both.

“If you actually worked with the rest of the team at practice, you’d probably make a big impact on everyone’s skills. Then maybe you’d trust us.”

Jack snorted and turned back to the TV.

He sighed. “It’s a team game, Jack,” he said quietly, but the stiffening shoulders told him that Jack still heard.

Eric turned his focus to pointing out where other teammates were lacking, making sure to get in digs at Jack, sarcastically pointing out how much better he was than everyone. And Jack really was so much better. It was just that every complement Eric gave was backhanded.

“Bittle. You’ve made your point. I should act like part of the team. Will you stop now?”

“Are you going to do anything differently?” Eric challenged.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t otherwise answer.

Eric crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course you’re not. Jack, stop acting like you can carry the team on your shoulders. You can’t, and you shouldn’t have to.”

“Hey Jack,” Johnson interrupted. “You could stand to be more friendly to your teammates.”

“We’re not good enough for Jack to complement,” Shitty complained, leaning away from him.

“Jack, complement Shitty.” Jack glared at Johnson.

Shitty spluttered, “I am not drunk enough for this.”

“Can we go back to watching tape if I do?”

Johnson smirked at him.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He turned to Shitty. “You’re levelheaded on the ice and keep your line together.” He turned back to Johnson. “Happy?”

“Now complement Bitty.”

Jack looked furious. He turned to Eric and said, “You’re fast.”

“Try again, Jack, you sound like you want to strangle the guy.”

Jack continued to glare at Eric. “Your checks hurt like hell and you can throw a punch.”

“Thanks,” Eric said with a glower.

“It’s unexpected from a player your size, we could use it,” he clarified. He did manage to sound slightly less like he hated Eric.

“Okay, enough of this. Johnson please let him stop. This is painful,” Eric begged. “Let’s just focus on the game. We can go back to just talking about drills or plays to try or something. Jack, we know you don’t like us, just... stop taking things out on us that aren’t our fault, okay?”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you. Johnson, Bittle and I are going to politely watch the tape and ignore the rest of you.”

Once they focused back on the game, and on trying to leave behind some of their issues, Eric and Jack had a lot to say about ideas for practice. Jack was good at it when he tried. If he got along better with everyone, Eric could see him become a captain.

They were so focused, in fact, he didn’t hear his timer go off.

“Bitty. Bitty! Bits, bro!” Ransom threw popcorn at him to get his attention. When did he get popcorn?

“Dude, pie timer.”

“Oh, holy hell. Right.” Eric jumped up from the conversation he’d been in with Jack, tripped over Johnson’s empty chair, and ran to the kitchen to the sound of snickering. The smell of pie wafted through the haus.

Johnson was hanging out in the kitchen.

“John, you’re looking eager. We need to let it cool, though.”

He eyed the pie. “I’ll wait.”

Eric shrugged. “You’ll be waiting a while. I should have just had you get it out for me.”

Johnson shrugged.

Eric wandered back into the living room. Jack was standing and stretching his arms up, causing his shirt to lift up from his lower back. It was honestly unfair of Jack to look that good. Really unfair. His black t-shirt was tight over his shoulders. Eric did not look. Nope. Not at all. Nope. No way was he looking a little lower either, at his soulmate’s magnificent hockey butt.

Holster threw popcorn at Jack.

Jack dropped his stretch and moved into the armchair. He did not look particularly amused.

Eric took the seat Jack had just vacated, and Shitty threw an arm around his shoulders. “Bits, you’ve got a good eye for this shit.” He waved vaguely at the TV while trying to shove Holster away. Holster responded by throwing popcorn at Shitty.

He shrugged. “Coach and I used to watch NFL tape all the time. It’s not that different.”

“Coach?” Jack raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yup. My dad.” Jack gave him a strange look.

They went back to watching tape. It was nice to be able to get along with Jack, even if hockey was the only topic they could safely talk about. The others were busy throwing popcorn at one another.

Eric was good at pointing out weaknesses, but it was Jack who had a lot of good suggestions for how to fix them. It was starting to feel like they could have a normal conversation, like they could actually be on a team.

It gave Eric hope that he and Jack could get along, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Hope made him say stupid things, like, “Jack, you should really join us at breakfast, at least.”

Shitty looked at Eric with wide eyes. He was mouthing something that looked like ‘no fucking way’ and gave a slight shake of his head. Eric ignored him.

“Eric, don’t make him come. He’ll ruin all our fun.”

“Johnson agrees with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I really wouldn’t want to ruin your fun,” Jack said dryly.

“God damn man. Eric, was Jack always this uptight?”

Eric pressed his lips together. “I’ll just go see if that pie is ready to serve.”

“I’ll help,” Jack said coldly, and stood to follow.

“I’m sure I’ve got it under control.” Eric left for the kitchen hoping Jack wouldn’t follow.

Johnson was gone, along with a slice of pie. There was a note: _Sorry, had to take care of an urgent plot device. Try not to kill each other_. Eric crumpled the note up before Jack could read it.

He grabbed five plates. When he turned back around, Jack was looming awkwardly in the doorway.

In a low voice he hissed, “What did you tell them?”

“About what?”

“Me.”

“I didn’t say anything. Why would I?” He cut slices and started to plate them.

“They know something.”

“All I’ve said is that we... met. Before I got to Samwell.”

“Just don’t tell them.” He looked up at the sound of distress in Jack’s voice, but his face was inscrutable.

“Jack, I wouldn’t.” Eric didn’t particularly relish the idea of the team knowing they were soulmates either. There was exactly no upside to sharing that bit of information as far as he was concerned.

He turned and dug around for forks. There weren’t enough clean ones. There was a distinct shortage of silverware in the haus in general, and forks in particular. He grabbed a plastic one from the box supplied by some of the other boys.

He handed two plates over, then carefully balanced the remaining three. “You are going to try coming to breakfast though, right?”

Jack paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you going to blackmail me if I don’t?”

“What? No! I would never.” Eric was affronted. He would have put his hand over his heart, but he was afraid he’d drop the third plate.

Jack narrowed his eyes.

“Seriously, I really mean it.”

“Good.” He wasn’t sure Jack believed him.

When they returned to the living room, Holster dumped the bowl of popcorn over Shitty’s head.

“Fuck off, brah,” he said with a laugh.

They handed the plates around.

Jack glared at his pie.

“It ain’t gonna bite.”

“Eat the pie, Jack. It’s not gonna fucking kill you.”

“Listen to Shitty,” Holster crooned. “You’re not gonna regret this pie.”

Eric normally tried not to watch the boys eat. The three boys on the couch moaned and groaned over their slices, throwing out outrageous compliments. He was pretty sure they were actively trying to make it sound sexual. It was both flattering and pretty annoying. He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much?”

He focused on trying to enjoy the pie himself, but he was tense. Jack assumed the worst about everything and everyone. Eric took his time and savored it anyway. When he finished, he looked up just as Jack licked the crumbs off his lips. Eric didn’t realize he was staring until their eyes met briefly.

Jack looked away.

“Thanks Bittle. That was good.”

Jack helped to gather the dishes back up to take back to the kitchen.

Eric let him help even though he didn’t need it, but as soon as they were alone again asked, “Are you actually helping, or is this just to continue our conversation from earlier?”

Jack shook his head. His eyes flickered down, paused for a moment. Eric thought he might be looking at his _lips_ and he couldn’t help the slight flush in his cheeks. Then Jack licked his own lips. Eric did not want to find that appealing, at all. It didn’t work. He could be mad as hell but it didn’t do anything to change how attractive Jack was. Seriously. Unfair. “Bittle. I just wanted to... “ He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I punched you. That looks like it hurts..”

Oh. Right. Eric ran his tongue over the split. It barely hurt any more. He shrugged. “We’ll call it even as long as I landed a bruise or two on you.”

Jack nodded.

“I mean, I started it, after all.”

 

\----

 

Jack didn’t come to breakfast. Eric wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t. At least he wasn’t the only person Jack avoided. And it was completely fine that his soulmate was an asshole.

He was a lot better in practice, though. He didn’t go so far as complementing anyone outright, but he did offer polite help to a few of the freshman. The freshman were intimidated by him, but not actively afraid or fed up like the older students were.

Eric was nervous about it. If anything, Jack’s intensity had increased, particularly when he focused his icy blues on him.

Shitty nudged him. “You actually _want_ him to come to breakfast?”

“Want is a strong word, Shits.”

Shitty sighed. “I know what you fucking mean, brah, but it’s not going to happen. Believe me, I used to try.”

Eric shrugged. He didn’t ask for any of this.

 

He didn’t plan on staying late after the team skate, but he and Jack were finally starting find a groove on the ice, so he reluctantly stayed after with Jack to go over one last play. They were getting better on the ice, and he really did want to try to get along with his soulmate better. Progress was fragile, like anything might break their momentum. It all made him very very nervous.

They only lasted an extra twenty minutes before Eric was too stressed to keep focus and called it.

Eric hurried through his shower, mostly just rinsing off, so he could finish before Jack showered. He was just finishing packing up his gear when Jack stepped out of the shower, thankfully already wearing pants.

He did not look at Jack’s bare chest.

He didn’t look after Jack pulled on a tight t-shirt either. God his abs.

“Look, now probably isn’t the time, but we really should talk...”

“Now’s fine.”

Oh. Eric didn’t expect that. Every time he tried to get Jack alone to talk since the haus, Jack made an excuse or just left without a word. “Huh. I expected you to just continue avoiding me.”

“Might as well get this over with. So. Talk.”

Eric took a moment to sort through his thoughts. There was a lot he wanted to say, but there was one thing he had to know. “Are you ever going to tell me what the hell happened? You abandoned me, and I couldn’t even be sure you were alright.”

“I wasn’t. You ruined my life.”

“What was I supposed to- it’s not like I meant for any of that-”

“And what’s worse, I can’t even hate you.”

That drew Eric up short. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Bittle.” He sounded so angry and cold. “I don’t hate you. I hate being your soulmate. I hate the idea of you. I didn’t ask for a soulmate to step in and ruin my life-”

“You think I asked for this-”

“-and I hate knowing that you and I are inevitable-”

“-wait what?-”

Jack gave him a withering look and stepped forward. There was only a small gap between them, Jack looming over him, forcing him to look up. His blue eyes were very expressive. They were full of fire.

Eric pushed weakly against Jack’s shoulder. He was way too close. Jack didn’t budge. He grabbed Eric’s wrist and pulled him _closer_. He pushed his lips against Eric roughly and it was not a nice kiss at all.

Eric shoved with all his strength, forced Jack to stagger away a few steps. “Don’t you dare,” Eric growled.

“It’s going to happen anyway,” he snarled. “Might as well be now.”

“Fuck you, Zimmermann. If you think that’s what I want, or even something I’d tolerate...” Eric clenched his fists, but he couldn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes. He wondered if his face was as red as it felt.

Jack took one step back, then another. He shook his head, looking frustrated and lost. Eric didn’t have much pity.

Eric forced himself to remain calm, despite the fury that kiss had awakened. He put as much ice as he could muster into his next words. “You have a lot to apologize for, Jack.”

Eric stomped out of the locker room. He needed to get away from Jack.

The last thing he’d seen before turning away was how Jack’s hands were trembling.

 


	4. Family Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suzanne and Bob visit Samwell.
> 
> Parse decides it's time for a visit too.
> 
> (wow am I the master of vague summaries.)

Eric grinned at yet another hilarious story over the breakfast table.

“And then that fucker said-” Shitty cut off and glared over Eric’s shoulder. The table was hushed around them. Holster turned to look back over his shoulder and frowned. Eric didn’t even need to check to see that it was Jack. Of course it was Jack. If he couldn’t bother Eric after practice, or any of the other times he’d tried to pull Eric aside to talk, of course he’d show up here. It was only a matter of time until he started hanging around the haus.

“Zimms, what are you doing here?” Shitty demanded. The entire table was suddenly very quiet. Eric shivered.

He turned to glare darkly at Jack. He needed to learn when the fuck to back down. Eric would talk to him when he was good and ready. Not a moment before.

Jack shrugged with one shoulder as he set down his plate in the empty seat next to Eric. As always, he was monotone, though his brow was pinched like he was extra annoyed. “Someone convinced me I should be joining the team for breakfast.”

He didn’t look at Eric when he said it, but he felt the weight of the words anyway. Asshole. Eric had not intended to imply Jack had permission to bother him anywhere when he’d suggested that.

When he sat down, Eric tensed to keep Jack from brushing up against him.

He tried to turn back to his unfinished breakfast, but Eric’s stomach felt twisted. He’d barely started eating, but his appetite was definitely gone. A spot just behind his eyes throbbed from the way he clenched his jaw.

Very slowly, Eric set his fork down on the edge of his plate. He stood up, nearly climbing over Holster to avoid Jack.

“Yo Bitty, you okay? You’re really pale.”

“Um. Y’know... I’m not feeling well all of the sudden.” No one said a word as he stiffly walked away without even grabbing his backpack from under bench.

He ducked into the bathroom and locked himself in a stall. Eric leaned against the wall, digging his fingers into his hair. He tried to roll his shoulders to ease the tension there, but it didn’t work very well slumped where he was. He should have grabbed his backpack. There was no way he was going back for it now.

Eric felt his face flush. If anyone hadn’t realized something was going on between them, it was obvious now. He shouldn’t be running away from Jack. Not now, not ever. Eric kind of wanted to punch him again. He shook his head, buried his face in his hands. That hadn’t done him any good before, even if Jack deserved it even more now. He counted his breathing, trying to get rid of the sickening anger. Jack had to be doing this on purpose. He couldn’t just do whatever he wanted, like it had no impact on Eric.

He just... why was this so hard? This was the one thing that was supposed to work out for him.

Eric stood there, lost in thought, until Shitty’s voice called out, “Bitty, brah, you in here?”

Shit, he didn’t even hear the door. He could just pretend to be someone else and not answer. He considered saying nothing. He wanted to be alone. Eric let out a long sigh. “In here, Shits.”

Shitty snickered. “Literal shits, or...?”

With a roll of his eyes, he turned and opened the stall, but he couldn’t even bring himself to crack a smile even though the joke amused him.

“Fuck, man. Glad I found you.” He held up Eric’s backpack.

Eric shrugged and walked to the sink, and splashed water in his face.

“You okay, Bits? Don’t mind Jack. He’s an asshole. We all know he’s is an asshole of unbelievable magnitude, but it seems like he must have said something to set you off? Let me know if you need me to be a fucking buffer for you though. I will.”

“No. I appreciate that, but I don’t... I doubt that will help.”

“Just say the word if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Shitty. Honestly, you would not even believe...” He held out a hand for his bag.

Instead of passing it over, Shitty grabbed him and wrapped him in a hug. “You wanna talk about it, bro?”

Eric squirmed out of the hug. “Uhh, not really.”

“Cool. You ever do, you know where to find me. Anything else I can do for you? You are really tense.”

“I know. There’s just not much I can do about it.”

“Brah. Let me give you a backrub at least. I got the magic fingers.” He wiggled his fingers.

Eric smiled weakly. “Fine.”

Shitty kept an arm around Eric’s shoulders most of the way to the haus.

“Take off your shirt and sit in front of the couch.”

Eric couldn’t keep himself from glancing around to see if anyone was around. Either they were still at breakfast or they had class. The haus was quiet. He sat down in front of the couch as instructed. He pulled his knees up into his chest and rested his head against them.

Shitty sat behind him. At first he was gentle, but before long he was digging his fingers into the tight knots in Eric’s back. He had perfect intuition about how much pressure was too much, and he used it. He dug out all the stiffness, the pent up stress, consistently backing off before it got too painful.

It was worth it. Shitty gave really great massages.

“Thanks, Shitty. I really needed that.”

“Anytime, man. Also, let me know if there’s anything I can do about that blue eyed fucker on our team. Seriously. Anything.”

Eric laughed. “I’ll let you know.”

 

 

\----

 

 

Shitty caught Jack in the hallway, clapping a hand on his shoulder. It startled Jack. It had been a long time since Shitty gave up on forcing their friendship. He was not looking friendly now.

“Bitty hasn’t said anything, but you need to back off, brah.”

Jack shook his hand off and looked down into his angry green eyes. “Well if he’d let me, I’d apologize.”

Shitty put his hands on his hips and blew out a puff of air, ruffling his mustache. “Leave him alone and respect his space, or any apology you give will be forced on him at his discomfort.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you apologizing?”

Jack took a deep breath. Bittle didn’t tell anyone. He and Shitty were obviously close. He really didn’t want them to know, which was proof enough that he had been really stupid. He felt guilty about it. He was trying to fix that.

“Because I owe him one. Are you demanding I tell you what happened? He clearly doesn’t want you to know or he would have told you about it.”

“Bits not wanting to talk about it isn’t the same as not wanting me to know, but no. I am not trying to find out what happened, I’m trying to figure out why you can’t see that your apology won’t mean anything if you’re just doing it because you’re supposed to without fucking respecting his boundaries. Boundaries that clearly state he wants you to leave him alone.”

“I guess I won’t apologize, then.”

“Since you seem to think apologies need to benefit you, maybe that’s for the best. Explains an awful-fucking-lot.”

“See you around, Shitty.”

 

 

\----

 

 

It became an unspoken rule of team breakfast: keep Zimms and Bitty separated. Eric would sit at one end of the table, with Jack at the other end. It was usually enforced by Holster, Ransom, and Shitty, even if it required Holster and Ransom bracketing Jack, or swapping seats so he’d have somewhere to sit. None of the guys particularly liked sitting by Jack very much, and having those two clowns around helped mitigate that.

Jack never said a word during breakfast. He didn’t smile, or laugh at their jokes. But he kept showing up.

Shitty, like Eric, refused to sit near Jack, although it was unclear if that was only because he always sat by Eric.

 

 

\----

 

 

“Bitty wanted me to give you this.”

“A note? Is this middle school?”

“Fuck you, Zimmermann. He doesn’t want to talk to you but apparently this is important.”

Jack skimmed the message.

 

_Jack, my mama is in town for family weekend. Please don’t talk to her. -ERB_

 

“Did you read this?”

“Yeah. He said I could.”

“So he told you what happened?”

“I don’t need to know what it was to know that it still affects him. It’s pretty obvious how much since he won’t even fucking talk about it.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and dug out a pen to write on the back of the note. “Here, since you’re the messenger. He could have just asked at practice.”

“Apparently you don’t understand how ‘Not Speaking To You’ works.”

“Anyway. Read it if you want. I don’t care.”

 

_Wouldn’t dream of bothering Mrs. Bittle. Same to you if you see my dad. -Jack_

 

 

\----

 

 

Jack ducked down a quiet hallway. He wasn’t quite ready to talk to Papa. He pushed his bangs back from his face and leaned back against the wall. He counted his breath slowly, focusing on the rhythm.

By the time he noticed the voices just around the corner, it was too late to walk away without them realizing he was there. Jack heard a woman’s voice say something in a heavy Southern lilt. She didn’t sound happy now, but hearing her voice made his stomach twist with the memory of warmth as thick as honey. Bittle’s mom.

“You and Jack played so well together.” Jack closed his eyes, refusing to think about the minute they shared on the ice. It was different in a game than in practice. It had been coincidence. He was heading in for the shift change near the end of the third, and Yale almost capitalized on it, leaving them with a mix of tired and fresh players and a mixed line. Somehow that ended in a 1-0 win for Samwell. Bittle’s goal, with Jack on the assist.

“It just worked out that way.”

“But Jack Zimmermann! That’s so exciting. Did I tell you about how your aunt Connie’s collection of Bob Zimmermann’s little cards-”

“Mama, please. Just stop.”

“Eric Richard Bittle. There’s no need for giving your mother that tone.”

“Please just don’t-”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” She sounded suspicious. He wasn’t sure exactly why. Jack knew he hadn’t had a chance to tell her who he was, but he and Bittle never talked about it. It struck him that if they had he would have a better idea of what she knew about five years ago. He held his breath. Bittle didn’t want his family to know about them any more than Jack did. There was a reason he never told anyone about Eric Bittle. Particularly after the way his father-

“Mama, I- I don’t...”

“I just cannot believe you aren’t more excited about playing with him!” Please let this conversation end. Jack wanted to escape this hallway. He wanted to curl up somewhere, hidden and alone. He could picture the look on Bittle’s face, frustrated and trying to hide it, a little red. He wore his emotions on his sleeve.

“Please do not google my teammates, Mother.”

“Oh, you don’t need to be embarrassed, Dicky. I thought the two of you had chemistry, didn’t you? Did you ever think about _Jack_ -”

“Do. Not.” He was all too familiar with the hard look that Bittle wore when he used that tone of voice. Tight jaw, chin out, fierce. There was a slight waver in the words that he wasn’t used to hearing.

“Dicky...”

“...” _Merde_.

“Is it him?” _Crisse de calice_. Remember to breathe.

Bittle wasn’t saying anything. That spoke volumes. Jack wondered if he shook his head, nodded, or looked away. He was always moving, jubilant. Unless he spotted Jack, in which case Bittle fidgeted with agitation. Whatever it was he did, the silent answer was obvious to Mrs. Bittle.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mama. He didn’t track me down on purpose. We don’t get along. We barely talk. But yeah, you’ll probably see him at some point...”

“Oh honey,” Suzanne said, pulling him into a hug. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s just so broken. It makes everything feel broken.”

“You’re not broken.”

Bittle made a muffled sob. “He’s such an asshole. I can’t even celebrate my first goal because he’s always, always right there. I can’t ever seem to get away from him.” Jack nearly let the humorless laugh escape his lips at that. Neither of them could get away from each other. If it wasn’t as frustrating as it was, it would have been funny. It wasn’t funny.

“Oh, my Dicky, it’ll be okay. It will. No, I don’t know how either yet. I- I’m sorry you couldn’t tell me.”

“Mama, of course I could have. I just didn’t want to have to talk about him. I can’t get away. I need to be able to talk to you without having to think about him for a while.”

“Did you ever find out what happened...”

“Yeah.” He sounded so sad. “Yeah, I figured it out.”

“What-”

“Mama. No. I really can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Promise me you won’t google him.” Jack hadn’t thought about it in so long. He was used to people knowing too much about his personal life, but this was different. The overdose was public knowledge. There was nothing he could do about that. What was not public was what he had overdosed on. He preferred it that way, even though it encouraged people to speculate and make up stupid theories. It was none of their business, and nothing they came up with was as bad as the truth.

Jack had done nothing wrong at all. He didn’t even like the fact that Bittle knew, though that was out of his hands. What had he told his mother? No one knew this part of Jack. Oh, they knew bits and pieces, but he had done everything he could to make sure they didn’t know any details when he realized no one would ever believe him.

Kent said he did. Jack doubted that.

“Will you tell me, eventually?”

“If you promise.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t tell Coach.”

She sighed deeply. “I know better than to try to get out of a promise like this by using your father.”

“Thanks, mama.”

Jack told himself they would leave soon. Then he could retreat.

Someone else was approaching the Bittles in the main hallway. He listened to their footsteps, trying to decide if they were loud enough to let Jack escape. That plan vanished when he heard his father’s voice.

“Have you seen Jack? I can’t find him.”

He heard Eric make an exasperated noise and cut Mrs. Bittle off. “Did you try calling him? I haven’t seen him.” He sounded sharp and frustrated. Jack wondered what Papa would make of that, especially right after scoring a game winning goal.

“He didn’t answer. He usually leaves his phone in the locker room, but at least he has it now... He usually slips off somewhere quiet after games that upset- but he was supposed to meet me.” Jack could hear the worry in his father’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to emerge from his inadequate hiding place around the corner. He wanted to be alone more than he wanted to comfort Papa.

“Dicky...” Mrs. Bittle said sadly.

“Fine. We’ll help you look for him, Mr. Zimmermann.”

He could imagine Papa throwing his arm over Bittle’s shoulder. “Thank you.” They were walking away, voices retreating. “That was a clutch shot, son. And Jack’s assist...”

He couldn’t hear them over the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He clenched his hands into fists and told himself they weren’t shaking.

Jack pulled out his phone and dialed before he could talk himself out of it. It only rang twice.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Jack’s voice sounded flatter than normal, and too far away, even to his own ears. It didn’t shake, even as the rest of his body did. His voice rarely expressed his distress, but when it got bad, he lost the ability to form words entirely. He tried to think about if he was close to that point, but it was hard to focus.

He could barely hear the answer, his hands were shaking so bad. “You’ve been having a lot of panic attacks lately. When will you stop telling me you’re okay?”

“Parse-”

“So when do you want me to come out there?”

“Don’t... ”

“Nah, it’s fine, man.”

“... Please. Just, stay in Vegas where you belong.” There was a sharp intake of breath across the line.

“... You having as many panic attacks as you were a few weeks ago?”

Jack swallowed. His voice dropped as quiet as it could go and still be audible. “More.”

“Shit. Fuck, Jack. I’m not leaving you alone. You need me? Then I’m there.”

“I’m fine. I’ll- I’ll be fine. Now’s not a good time to visit.”

“You’ve never not wanted me to visit. I am legit worried about you. Jack, I know you hate asking for help. It’s not like you’ve ever actually asked me to come see you. So, I’m worried. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“...”


	5. Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shitty swaps bodies with his soulmate.
> 
> Parson visits Jack at Samwell.
> 
> For the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this chapter involves updating the tags! Please double check them.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It’s common knowledge that your switch with your soulmate can take place after you’ve met. Many people argue that this is because you’re at a turning point and may lose touch with them otherwise. Others debate that explaination. Either way, it’s estimated that a quarter to one-third of people switch bodies with their soulmate after they’ve met already.

Eric was tense. He wasn’t sleeping properly anymore. Every time he was at the haus, which was increasing in frequency along with his stress baking, Shitty seemed to be there, keeping a close eye on him.

Mama was doing her patented throw-recipe-ideas-at-him-until-he-talked-about-what-was-bothering-him tactic. It was her not so subtle way of telling him she was there for him, she wanted to talk about it, she was respecting his request, respecting his privacy, etc. It was exhausting. He already regretted caving in and telling her about Jack.

At least he didn’t have to work so hard at avoiding Jack himself. Eric and Jack had fallen into an uneasy truce. They inhabited the same spaces, but they didn’t talk to each other any more than they had to. The boys didn’t need to form a major buffer between them at breakfast, and everyone seemed happier for it. So that was easier, even if Jack was still a quiet, brooding force at the breakfast table. The boys were getting better at ignoring that.

At practice it was more complicated. The coaches were trying them on the same line. It was going okay, considering. They did play well together, it just left Eric completely wiped out from spending all his energy being careful of Jack.

There was one time after practice, the two of them had somehow ended up alone in the locker room together. Eric froze, staring at Jack with something too close to panic to properly call a glare.

Nothing happened, except maybe that Jack was extra courteous to hurry out of his way without a word.

 

Eric stewed on his way over to the haus. Jack was being... nice wasn’t the right word. Less rude. Less of an asshole. Just enough that Eric was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He didn’t even want to try to talk things through with Jack anymore. He did, actually, but only in theory. Last time had been dreadful. Eric chewed on his lip. He hoped Shitty was around.

 

“My dude. My bro. You want me to kick his ass? I’ll kick his ass for you.”

Eric felt some of the stress drop already. He laughed. “No, Shitty. Please don’t.”

“Backrub?”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

“No way, man. First, you basically pay me in pie anyway, which is swawesome. Second, Bits, I offered. I promise I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

“Thanks, Shitty.”

“C’mon up. Bed’s more comfy.”

Eric ignored the fact that Shitty was almost certainly naked in his bed most of the time. Shitty was naked everywhere, and it had stopped really bothering him. At least he wore pants when he was giving massages on his bed.

He laid face down on the covers after throwing his shirt over the chair. This was becoming routine.

Shitty climbed up, straddling him. It should have been awkward. It wasn’t. It was just Shitty. He got a lot weirder than that with anyone who was comfortable with it.

Ten minutes of “magic fingers” and Eric felt a million times better. If he didn’t have class soon, he’d ask if he could take a nap here. That tended to be the only way he got any meaningful sleep at all, these days.

Shitty’s fingers were digging into a particularly tight knot as he rambled on and on. Suddenly his fingers went slack, resting gently on Eric’s back, just as he trailed off mid-sentence.

“Am I in Shitty’s room? Oh. I am Shitty.” One of the hands lifted from his back. Eric twisted around to look at Shitty. At Shitty’s soulmate. They were running a hand over Shitty’s mustache.

“Oh. Um... so you know Shitty, then?”

“Chyeah.”

They climbed off him. “Hey, so we haven’t met.”

Eric sat up and held out his hand. It was awkward to have a stranger show up in Shitty’s body right in the middle of a massage, but they were treating it like it was normal. He supposed knowing Shitty would make that kind of thing a given. “Eric Bittle.”

Shitty’s soulmate shook it, seeming distracted. “Lardo.” They looked around the room in wonder. “This is amazing. Did you know Shits was colorblind?”

“Oh. He is?” This was fine. Eric had it under control. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on. He was under control. He was fine. Totally fine.

“Yeah, it’s supes weird. Shit! We gotta look at something.” They dug out Shitty’s phone and unlocked it with an intimate familiarity that made Eric’s breath catch. “Fuck, this is cool.” They tilted the screen to show him a photo of a painting, flipping through images of an online gallery. “Wow, no wonder he liked this one...”

“You’re not gonna call him?” He felt a little faint. This seemed so easy. It was unfair. He wanted to cry.

“Nahh. Don’t have my phone on me anyway.”

Lardo wandered around the room, looked out the window, pointing out how different the world looked. “Oh, fuck. I almost forgot something important. Give me a few minutes.” Lardo ducked down the hallway. He heard the bathroom door slam.

Eric looked numbly at the photos on Shitty’s phone. They were beautiful. Lardo seemed pretty excited to be Shitty’s soulmate. He’d seen the way Shitty’s eyes lit up when he told stories at kegsters of epic drinking games with Lardo. He was going to be thrilled.

He set the phone down and waited, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor. He wanted to be happy for Shitty. That was what friends were supposed to do. He couldn’t bring himself to feel it, but Eric was prepared to try to pretend.

Shitty slammed the door against the wall as he barged back into the room. “Dude, that was trippy as balls.”

Eric looked up.

“Please tell me you know who she is.”

“Oh, you’re back. Hey Shitty.”

“Man, full color vision is a blast. I should have been fucking expecting that but it just floored me.” There was color in his cheeks. “But I have no clue who she is. Which is just... I mean. I always thought it’d be cool to have my soulmate explore my body, but it’s fucking weirder than I thought. I didn’t feel right touching a stranger with her own hands-”

“Shitty.”

“Yeah, man?”

“I got your back. It’s Lardo.”

“Lardo?!”

“Yeah.”

Shitty grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking gently and grinning. “Are you fucking serious! That’s fucking amazing. Fucking hell, that is the coolest thing ever. Thank god, though. I feel a lot better. I told her all about what I wanted my soulmate to do with me-”

“Okay, I don’t actually need to hear about it. I’m glad for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, brah. Cool. Really cool. Shit, Bitty... What’s up?”

Eric shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.

“Soulmate shit get you down?”

He nodded.

“It’ll be okay. You’re gonna fucking love the soulmate switch, man.”

Eric clenched his teeth. He could say something. He _should_ say something. “Don’t you have class soon?”

“Shit. Fuck. Yeah.”

Shitty threw on a vest and grabbed his backpack. Eric waited until he had thundered down the stairs, leaving the haus quiet.

Eric had class in an hour. He slumped, covering his eyes with his hands, and then he couldn’t keep the sobs inside. He curled up tight on the bed and tried to blink the tears away. His shoulders shook as he cried, and his eyes hurt. Eric needed to stop crying, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. He didn’t want his classmates to see him with his eyes and face red. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t be nice about it, but he didn’t like the idea of people he knew seeing him right now.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there.

Eric let tears continue to drip down his face, wiping them furiously away now and again, while he looked for a distraction on his phone.

Mama pinned a new recipe an hour ago. It was like she had some sixth sense and knew he’d need it. It was a lovely complicated one, something that called for supplies he couldn’t grab at the Stop and Shop.

He scrubbed some more tears from his face. Well, he knew he’d never be able to focus on class. If he wasn’t going to class anyway, he might as well bake. Stress baking seemed like a much better use of his time. He could just borrow someone’s notes.

 

Eric took a closer look at the shops after he hopped off the bus. There were a lot of interesting places to shop. He had been looking forward to investigating more closely when he had some free time. He never seemed to have the time. There was a really nice looking coffee shop. He smiled thinly, and decided to at least grab some coffee on his way back as a pick-me-up.

He wanted to stock up. The market had a lot of nice products he couldn’t normally get. Of course, he had to balance that with making sure he could actually carry everything back.

Even though he was laden down with groceries, he was going to get that coffee if it killed him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to actually hold it, but that was a minor detail.

It was pretty busy. It looked like a lot of students came here to study. It was nice to get off campus for a bit. He was starting to feel calmer.

He didn’t see Jack until he was almost through the line waiting to order. He didn’t recognize him at first. He looked a lot different when he smiled. Softer. Gentler.

Eric had never seen this Jack before. The only time he’d ever seen a smile on Jack’s face had been grainy newspaper photos from before the draft.

He felt cold.

The person behind him in line nudged him so that Eric would step forward.

He couldn’t tell what it sounded like over the crowd, but Jack was laughing. He was sitting with someone blond wearing a plaid shirt and a backwards Aces snapback. Eric couldn’t see the guy’s face.

There was something intimate about it. Jack leaned in close, his eyes shining, his cheeks a warm color.

The contrast made it incredibly obvious just how cold Jack was towards Eric. Even that kiss. Especially that kiss.

Eric ducked out of the line and out to the street. He didn’t want coffee anymore. He just wanted his soulmate to _like_ him. He wanted to like Jack too, though that might be asking a little much.

Jack had called them inevitable. That wasn’t the same as caring. Eric knew, intellectually, that Jack had never cared about him. Five silent years made that clear. But he had never felt it so keenly before.

Eric had friends -real friends- for the first time at Samwell. That was overshadowed by what he didn’t have. What Shitty and Lardo had. He wished Jack wasn’t here, making his life miserable.

He’d had this plan, when he enrolled, to date and kiss a lot of boys. To make something out of the absence of his soulmate. Having Jack so close, yet so distant, ruined that. It ruined what little chance he’d had to be happy.

 

Eric trudged into the haus. It was quiet midday. He could be alone. At least he could try to find some small measure of peace in the kitchen.

He worked carefully through his new recipe. Eric liked the intricacy of it. It kept his mind occupied.

Shitty was back from class. “Skipping class for baking?”

“Stress baking. Yeah.”

“Sorry to hear that, brah. What’s got you so down? It’s not the soulmate thing, is it?”

Eric shrugged with one shoulder. “Ran into Jack.”

“What’d the fucker do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Honestly, I’ll be fine.”

Eric looked up at Shitty’s silence. He had a serious expression.

“Really, just let me work it out in my own time.”

Shitty shook his head. “If you say so, Bits. I’ll be upstairs.”

Eric waved him off. He was pretty sure Shitty was going to go get high. Or maybe call Lardo. Or both. If it was just smoking pot, Eric was tempted to join him. Maybe he could check after he finished in the kitchen.

 

 

\----

 

 

Jack didn’t want Kent to go into the kitchen, that much was obvious. He said something about how the guy in there cooking didn’t like to be bothered. He knew when Jack was lying.

Kent watched as Jack grew more and more tense on their way over from getting coffee. His smile disappeared long before they reached ‘the haus.’ It had turned into something else entirely when they stepped inside and Kent said, “Smells nice in here. Is someone baking?”

So they hung out in the living room, waiting for some of his other teammates to wander through. It was amusing, but awkward as fuck. He was beginning to wonder how bad an idea it was to meet his teammates. Why did he put himself in these positions? Oh, right. Because he couldn’t leave things alone. Breakfast hadn’t made things better. If anything, convincing Jack to go hang out with his team had made things worse. Kent just needed to know why, so he could help.

He got up, stretched, and Jack gave him a stressed out look. “Just gotta piss.” Kent glanced to the windows, but there was no way anyone could see in, if just because they were coated in dirt. He leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Jack jumped, and glared at him. Kent blew him a kiss like the asshole he was and headed down the hall. He needed to learn to fucking relax.

He didn’t go to the bathroom. Jack was being too weird about this kitchen thing. Kent hovered in the doorway. There was a boy with a frown on his face and earbuds in. He could hear pop music, but couldn’t make out what it was. He was cooking up a storm, or whatever.

Kent winced. Short, blond, really cute. For a second he thought maybe there was something between them, a reason Jack might not want them to meet. Nah. That wasn’t the sort of thing Jack did. He dismissed the thought, and glanced back down the hall. Jack was focused on the documentary he’d turned on. He had a few minutes.

He stepped into the kitchen fully, wondering how to get this kid’s attention.

It didn’t take much. He looked up at Kent and his eyes got big and wide. Kent smirked. He wasn’t surprised to be recognized so quickly in a hockey frat.

He pulled the ear buds out and fumbled around, wiping his hands on the apron before shutting off the music.

“S’up?”

“You’re Kent Parson.” Kent frowned. He expected awe, not... not whatever that voice meant.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Huh. You’re taller than I expected. I was not actually expecting to be looking _up_. Or to see you at all, really.” He sounded dazed, and tired to the bone.

“Bro, that hurts. You’re a hockey player, right? Surely you know what that’s like. ‘Cause you are itty bitty for a hockey player, you realize that?”

The kid didn’t smile. He just stared at him. Kent might even go so far as to call it a glare. “Yeah, I get that a lot. At least you assumed I am a hockey player. Still... I’m used to being taller than you.”

“You a goalie? You sound like a goalie.”

“No.”

“Okay, so like, you already know my name. What’s yours?”

His face darkened, full of barely suppressed anger. For asking the dude’s name? “ _Eric Bittle_.” There was something really strange in the way he emphasized it. Provoking, almost. Man, he was starting to think Zimms had a good reason to avoid introducing them. He just wasn’t quite sure what it was, yet. And Kent was nothing if not persistent.

“Cool. Nice to meet you.”

Eric swallowed. He looked really upset. Kent wasn’t sure what that meant. He’d never had this affect on anyone, ever.

“So where’s Jack?” Wow. There was a lot of... ice in that question. It threw Kent off.

“Uh... in the living room... I get the feeling you want me to go.”

Eric turned and glared at the oven. “Please do. I’m not exactly your biggest fan, and I can’t leave until this is done.”

“Huh. Sorry ‘bout that.” _Guess that’s why he didn’t want me to come bother him_. Kent almost left the kitchen, but he hesitated. He was curious, so sue him.

Without facing him, Eric said, “I know you two are close. I saw you at the coffee shop earlier, actually, but I’m surprised he hasn’t at least mentioned me.” It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. He’d dropped from anger to sadness.

Kent wasn’t sure if he should ask why Jack would have mentioned this guy, but clearly the kid expected him to. What was he to Jack?

“You got a crush on him, or something?” Kent said gently. He knew he shouldn’t ask it, but Samwell did have a reputation, and this guy didn’t seem to be trying to suppress the gay vibes he gave off.

Eric barked out a laugh. “Oh, lord no.”

“Smart move. He’s an asshole.” Kent couldn’t completely suppress his idiotic grin.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a gaze at Kent. He felt like Eric saw so much more of him than he wanted anyone to ever see. “I should have realized you were together as soon as you showed up in my kitchen. Before, probably.”

“Uh...” Fuck. _Fuck_! Kent was supposed to deny that shit.

“Better you than me. He is an asshole.” Kent had meant it kind of endearingly, but Eric sounded hurt.

“I’m gonna die of curiosity now. I feel like there’s something I’m missing.” Jack didn’t want them in a room together. The question was: Why? He was going to make sure he walked away with answers.

“I’m not sure what to tell you. You’re gonna have to pry it out of him. Best of luck to you in that,” Eric said with surprising hostility.

Kent bit his lip. He knew Jack didn’t spend much time around his Samwell team, but there was something more here. He was glad he’d decided to insist. He was going to make it better for Jack, once he figured out what was going on. He ignored the angry expression and took him at face value. He smiled at Eric. “Yeah, don’t think I won’t rest until I do.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” He shrugged at Kent’s expression. “I’ve seen the way you play. The whole team is pretty in love with you.”

“Not you though.”

“Not me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I want to talk to you about that.”

“Well, I’ll leave you alone, I guess.”

Eric didn’t even say goodbye. He just put his music back on.

Kent hit up the bathroom on the way back to join Jack.

He told himself it didn’t matter, but the way Eric talked about Jack, like he knew things he wasn’t telling, the way he saw right through his and Jack’s relationship or friendship or whatever. It left him more on edge than he expected.

Jack had been weirder than normal, lately.

More needy, but more closed off.

He’d never flown to Vegas before. And just a few weeks later he told Kent not to come visit. He never did that either.

It left him feeling more nervous than ever when he sat back down by Jack like nothing was wrong. If Jack noticed how long he’d been gone, he didn’t say anything.

 

_“They all think it was a suicide attempt.”_

_“It... it wasn’t, right?”_

_“No, Kenny. No. But they won’t believe me. You believe me right?”_

_“Of course I do. Of course. I- I’m just glad you’re okay.”_

_“Why didn’t you notice what was wrong?”_

_Kent sucked in his breath like he’d been punched. It was his responsibility to notice, to really see Jack. That was the foundation for how their friendship worked._

 

The awkward silence bothered him. Kent had never been a big fan of letting that kind of thing linger, but he was suddenly aware of the infinite distance between him and Jack. He swallowed. He had to say something, had to get to the bottom of this. He didn’t have long before he was back to Vegas, before the season kicked into high gear.

It must have been Eric who rushed down the hall and out the door. Kent spotted a flash of blond hurrying down the street through the grimy windows. Jack breathed out a sigh, and part of the tension in his shoulders dropped away.

“What the hell was that-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish the thought. The less mysterious of Jack’s teammates arrived.

One dude had curly, light brown hair, and wow. Wow was he good looking. Kent, despite his sexuality, did not often stare. Damn, man. He said something like, “I promised Bits I’d take care of the kitchen. Sadly I can’t do much for his narrative at this point. That’s all you Parson.” Then he ducked down the hallway.

The black man with amazing cheekbones - damn Zimms had some hot teammates - said, “Hey, don’t mind Johnson, he always says weird shit.” He shouted up the stairs. “Hey Shitty! Get down here!”

Shitty clattered down the stairs a minute later, just as another guy came in the front door.

“Holy shit. That is Kent motherfucking Parson,” said the dude on the stairs.

Kent plastered a press quality smirk on and climbed over the back of the couch. “Nice to meet ya.”

They towered over him, but most hockey players did. He tried not to think about what Eric said. _I didn’t expect to be looking up_. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Why did it bother Kent so much?

Jack was in his quiet, reserved, hockey robot mode. Dude had never been good at dealing with loud guys. It made it surprising he’d ever given Kent the time of day.

“Jack, man, why didn’t you tell us he’d be here?”

Jack shrugged at the giant blond guy. “It was spur of the moment.”

The black guy said, “Dude, spur of the moment to fly out from Vegas?”

Kent gave him a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, yeah it was.” It always was.

He didn’t drop it. “Wasn’t Jack just in Vegas, actually?” He was already pulling something up on his phone. “Yup. Spreadsheets don’t lie.”

“So tell me, has Jack been showing up to breakfast?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“He promised me he would.”

“Don’t tell them that, Parse.”

“Too late.”

“Well, if he won’t take the advice of the captain of the Vegas team, there really is no hope for him,” the blond guy with glasses chirped.

Kent couldn’t help it, he liked these guys already. He couldn’t blame them for giving Jack dark looks. He’d dealt with reluctant rookies himself. And Jack was the most reluctant, recalcitrant hockey player Kent had ever come across.

 

 

\----

 

 

Kent almost didn’t want to ask.

Jack was almost overflowing with tension. Kent had thought Jack had been asking him to fly to Samwell, without actually asking. But he’d said not to come for a reason. He had a feeling that reason was named ‘Eric Bittle.’

He had to know.

“So I know you’re always standoffish, but seriously what the fuck?”

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you like those guys? They seem cool.”

Jack shrugged and closed his apartment door behind them.

“And what is the deal with you and Eric Bittle?”

It was a mistake to ask. Jack didn’t realize he’d talked to the kid. He could see, literally see, Jack retreat into his own head.

He had never seen Jack look so cold and distant. His hands were shaking, but he brushed Kent off when he reached out. Kent flinched away.

It had been a long time since he’d done that. A very long time.

They stood there by the door, staring at each other. Jack took deep, slow breaths until the shaking was under control. Normally Kent would be thrilled by how easily he did so, how much more capable Jack was at taking care of himself, even if it was because he’d had to be.

Once, long ago, Kent had tried to convince him to move to Vegas. He’d never known why the answer had been No. There was so much Jack refused to talk about. And suddenly Kent was aware of how much that mattered.

Kent stood, frozen, waiting for the dam to break. He held his breath.

“Jack, what aren’t you telling me?” He suddenly did not want to know. The look in Jack’s eyes, all icy fire, was enough to know that. The words were already out there. They had been since he’d said the name Eric Bittle. Whatever this was had been hovering in the air since Kent flew out here.

“How do you know his name?” He hadn’t seen that expression on Jack’s face since the Q. It was a face-off look, all hard edges and threat.

Kent had never felt small in front of Jack before.

He tried not to shrink. He was Kent fucking Parson, he’d dealt with aggressive hockey players before. Just never Jack. Kent puffed his chest and glowered at him, leaning forward. “I was curious why you were so stressed about him. You can’t disallow me from talking to people.”

“He hates me. That’s all.”

“You fucking liar. Since when have you ever cared if someone hated you? Why does he matter?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Yeah, not buying it, Zimms.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair. It was a gesture of defeat. He seemed to shrink away, like the Jack he knew was disappearing. Kent didn’t feel like he’d won anything. He braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for Jack to say, “You know I don’t like talking about soulmate shit.”

Kent felt all the air leave his body, like he’d been checked. He half collapsed into the wall behind him, looking up at Jack like he’d never seen him before.

“He’s your soulmate?”

“Regrettably. There’s a reason I’ve been having more panic attacks lately...”

Kent tried to replay the conversation from the kitchen in his head, but Jack was right there in front of him and he looked so unaffected. Frustrated, but normal, like nothing important had changed.

“How long have you known?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Jack. How long?”

“Since August.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? _Why didn’t you tell me before you came to Vegas_?”

“Did it matter?”

“You unbelievable asshole.” Kent shoved past him and stood in the hallway, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was already making a list of where he’d left all his stuff scattered around. “Yes it fucking mattered.” No way was he staying here.

“I didn’t realize it would bother you.”

“Well it does.”

“I’m sorry. I should have expected him to show up here.”

Kent paused. Jack sounded so sad. He looked at Jack, a wave of sympathy for his friend coming over him. He remembered that call in August, Jack’s distress. Kent relaxed a fraction. “Hard for it not to be a surprise, when you didn’t know who he was.”

“I knew his name. I had a panic attack when Johnson introduced us.”

“What do you mean, you knew his name?”

Jack shrugged. “His mom had just enough time to say it, back-back then.”

Kent whirled away. He needed to leave. Now. He thought briefly about leaving his things behind, but that seemed stupid. God, he’d been so stupid.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s time for me to go.”

“You can’t just leave.”

“Fucking watch me.”

 

 

\----

 

 

Kent changed his flight, moving it to the next morning instead of a few days out, but he couldn’t find a flight out tonight. He waited alone in the hotel room he’d booked at the last minute. He hadn’t expected to be alone in a hotel.

He sat on the bed and twisted his Aces snapback in his hands. He felt just as wrung out, just as twisted.

 

_“What was I supposed to notice, Zimms? It was a panic attack. I got you out of the crowd.”_

_“Kenny... I thought you’d be able to tell.”_

_“Tell what?”_

_“That it wasn’t me. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”_

_“Fucking hell. That was your soulmate? Look, we just have to tell them-”_

_“They don’t belive me.”_

_“I believe you. Jack...”_

 

Jack had sent him a stream of text messages, all of which Kent ignored without reading.

He sent one reply. _You told me you didn’t know his name_.

He had never cried so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, Kenny. I love him.
> 
>  
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm not 100% sure if or when this story is too mature to be rated teen, since I avoid being explicit about pretty much everything. Please please let me know if I've rated it too low. I worry about that, but I think it's ok since the themes aren't sex or violence.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is the first thing I'm actually sharing (still working on other longer fics).
> 
> I'm over at http://measurelessgarden.tumblr.com/


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